


Renaissance

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, Amnesia, M/M, Written during season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is back in New York. His memory, not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renaissance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Reunion Challenge. This was my theory about how Peter would get his memory back (and how he lost it in the first place). It became completely AU as more of season 2 aired.

Peter’s heart is pounding as he checks the number on the door against what’s written on the piece of paper in his hand – for the third time. He is stalling, he knows it, but he has no idea what awaits him on the other side of that door. His apartment, yes – its address hard-won – but his past as well, and – hopefully – his memories. Maybe there is a wife, and children waiting for him. A girlfriend – or a boyfriend, who knows? 

That thought makes Peter feel both elated and panicky. He won’t know these people, won’t know how to explain what’s happened to him. He doesn’t even know how long he’s been gone! On the other hand the possibility that there will be no one, no one to care or notice that he was missing is so much worse he’d rather face that first option, no matter how terrifying.

So he takes a deep breath and steels himself, turning the key into the lock and pushing the door open. He feels almost faint as he takes that first step inside, looking around cautiously and expecting something, anything – a sense of familiarity, of _home_ , but there is nothing. Peter crushes the disappointment and turns towards the living room. And freezes.

There is a man, asleep on the couch. _His_ couch, if he is to believe what is written on his ID. Peter looks at the stranger intently, waiting for a hint of recognition from within or for the man to open his eyes and say something, but nothing happens. There is no miraculous memory recovery and the man keeps on sleeping, a little frown creasing his otherwise smooth forehead. 

The disappointment is harder to quell this time but Peter doesn’t give up, touching CD cases and books and hoping it will trigger some sense of déjà vu. He keeps an eye on the man though, watchful for any sign that he may be waking up. What little experience he has had of living has taught him to be weary. 

He ventures further into the apartment, exploring the kitchen and the bedroom. He notes the rumpled sheets of a bed that looks slept in and is finally drawn back towards the man slumbering on the couch, a man who may have all the answers he has been looking for. He studies him carefully, tries to figure out his age – probably in his early forties – and what his relation to Peter is. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that last part out, the single bedroom of the small apartment a dead give-away, and so Peter looks closer. The man is handsome despite the beard that’s hiding half his face, and too tall for his current position to be comfortable. One of his hands hangs limply off the side of the couch, and there is an empty bottle of whiskey next to a framed picture on the floor.

Curious, Peter kneels next to the couch, frowning briefly at the bottle before his eyes fall on the picture and his heart stutters in his chest.

The glass is broken and there are fingertip smudges all over the shiny paper. And two men, himself – his hair longer and his smile care-free like he can’t remember being – and the stranger, beardless and smiling. They look so happy, and with a pang Peter realizes this man has missed him. It is a strange feeling, hoping that someone might be looking for you, waiting for you, and being confronted with the reality of it. And Peter is suddenly terrified he’ll disappoint this man, this beautiful man who is missing him so damn much he’s become a shadow of the man he was in the picture.

Peter is so absorbed in his thoughts he almost misses the small noise of pain the man makes as he shifts next to him and when he looks up there are bleary eyes blinking at him. Peter freezes and unconsciously holds his breath, his heart beating wildly.

“Peter...” the stranger whispers, still half-asleep, one hand reaching out to touch. Then his eyes open wide, finally awake, and he sits up abruptly. “Peter!”

And Peter finds himself enveloped in strong arms that are holding him a little too tight and that aren’t letting go, but he doesn’t care. He’s home, finally, and for the first time since he had woken up in an empty container with no memory, tears well up in his eyes and he is crying and they’re both crying and the man is talking, saying his name over and over again and it finally feels like it’s _his_ name.

He doesn’t know how long they remain locked together but it feels like forever and too soon when the man finally pulls back, his hands coming up to frame Peter’s face and Peter does the same, stroking the beard a little. The man – his lover – smiles a little self-deprecatingly and ducks his head.

“I missed you,” he says as if it explains everything and it probably does.

“I missed you too,” Peter answers automatically, and despite everything he knows it’s the truth.

They smile at each other and Peter knows there will be questions, a lot of them on both sides, but for now he is reluctant to break this new-found peace. The other seems to agree.

“Jesus. Look at me...” The man’s laugh is watery and weak, but his eyes are shining. “I’m a mess.” Which is true, the smell of alcohol and sweat strong on his skin, but Peter doesn’t mind. The man does though and he reluctantly pulls back, rubbing his face. “Give me ten minutes? Then you’ll tell me everything.”

He gets up, not managing to mask a wince of pain as his long body unwinds, and for a second Peter sees that same man with burns instead of unmarked skin. He shivers and shakes his head, trying to dislodge the disturbing vision. Is it a memory? Or something else?

The shower has been turned on in the bathroom and Peter picks up the picture again, looking intently at the stranger’s face. “What’s your name?” he mouths silently. Already, he knows he loves him, loves this man, and it’s a warm and foreign emotion. And maybe he should have said something, said he doesn’t remember – doesn’t remember their life together – but he quickly shakes off the twinge of guilt. There will be time for words later.

For now... for now, Peter is feeling bold. He needs to reconnect, to make up for lost time, to just _feel_ , and so he sheds his clothes and steps into the bathroom and into the shower.

The man jumps as the door opens and he turns around, inquisitive eyes widening as he takes in Peter’s naked form.

“Peter, what...”

Peter doesn’t let him finish, pushing him back against the wall and bringing their lips together. The other has shaved while Peter was lost in his thoughts, and Peter’s hand comes up to caress smooth skin. Then he is drowning in the kiss and his lover is trying to say something but Peter only takes the opportunity to push his tongue forward and _in_ , mapping the inside of the other’s mouth clumsily like it’s the first time, and it is.

Maybe some part of him had hoped for some fairy tale ending, with his memories rushing back to him with this kiss, but it doesn’t happen and he can’t even bring himself to care because it feels so _good_ , so natural, and he moans, trying to get closer.

But there are hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm as he is pushed back and away, and nononononono, _why_?

He whimpers and opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing, only to gaze into the shocked eyes of a stranger who isn’t really one.

“Peter? What...”

Peter stumbles back, almost slipping on the wet floor, and turns on heels, almost running out of the bathroom. Somehow, he got it all wrong and he is mortified. But surely, it was an honest mistake? The man is living in his apartment, and there is only one bedroom, a bedroom he’s been sleeping in. And it had felt so right...

The water has been turned off in the other room and he looks up to see the man stalking into the living room, a towel wrapped hastily around his waist and water still dripping from his hair and shoulders. He is looking a little wild, though he seems to calm when he sees Peter, as if he had feared he would disappear again.

And Peter can only stare, because he is beautiful. So beautiful, and he wants to kiss him again.

Except for some reason, it’s not something they do.

“Peter?” the man asks cautiously, handing him a towel and Peter blushes, realizing that in his haste to get away he had completely forgotten about his nakedness.

“What was that?” He’s keeping his voice steady, careful to keep all trace of accusation out of his tone, but Peter is not fooled.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I thought...”

“You thought...?” The man prompts when Peter doesn’t go on.

“I thought we...” Peter trails off again, unable to get the words out, and it’s ridiculous because it’s not his fault he’s got amnesia, right?

“Peter.” The other’s voice is firm now. “What’s my name?”

Peter can’t meet his eyes.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

He shakes his head, finding some dirty spot on the carpet strangely fascinating. He had expected to feel relieved when it finally came out in the open, but he isn’t, not really. He is too busy considering this strange feeling inside his chest whenever he looks at the other man, this _want_ that shouldn’t be here. Or should it?

“I’m Nathan.”

The man – Nathan – looks at him encouragingly, as if hoping this will spark some recollection, but Peter only looks back blankly.

“Nathan Petrelli.”

Oh.

Petrelli. Like the name on his ID.

Which means this man... this man...

... is his brother.

His brother.

Oh God.

He is going to be sick.

He is back in the bathroom within seconds, bent over the toilet and throwing up the meal they gave him on the plane. He empties his stomach, and still it rebels, the dry heaves making his throat burn and his eyes sting. It hurts, but it’s a pain that has nothing to do with the physical. 

Suddenly he isn’t alone anymore, the man – Nathan, his _brother_ – is there behind him, rubbing his neck, and how he can even stand to look at him is beyond Peter. Peter, who kissed him. Peter, who wants to do it again. He should go, leave right now, before he does something he’ll regret, before he drives Nathan away. Nathan who is his only link to a past he isn’t sure he wants to remember anymore.

But Nathan isn’t going away, handing him a glass of water and telling him to rinse his mouth, flushing the toilet and pulling Peter back against his chest when he is done. Peter tries to fight him but Nathan is determined and won’t give up until Peter gives in. His brother’s skin is still damp from the shower and his hand has moved to stroke his short hair. Peter sighs and closes his eyes, leaning into the caress. He is too tired to make sense of anything, the past few weeks – the past few hours – catching up with him, and he rests his head under Nathan’s chin, listening to his steady heartbeat as exhaustion pulls him under.

Nathan isn’t going away, and that’s all that matters right now.

\---

When Peter wakes up, he is sprawled at an odd angle against someone’s naked body. For a second, he panics and the arm around him tightens before relaxing. And with a flash he remembers the night before. Nathan.

“Peter? You awake?”

“...yeah.”

The tiles are cold against his skin, but Nathan’s skin is warm and Peter shivers. The towels have slipped sometimes during the night and he shifts, uneasy. Nathan seems to sense his discomfort and lets him go.

“Let’s get dressed,” he says lightly and Peter nods gratefully. He still doesn’t fully understand what happened the night before and he hopes it was just a passing fancy, but as Nathan gets to his feet and stretches, he knows it wasn’t. It’s still there, and it’s sick, and how can Nathan even stand to look at him?

But maybe, maybe when he gets his memories back he’ll be able to put those confusing feelings into perspective, into context, and everything will make sense. Right? Right.

 

They get dressed, and Peter tells Nathan what little he does remember. It’s not much, the weeks in Cork and the box and the heist he had been forced to take part in in order to get it back. He tells him about finally getting that box and not wanting to open it, fearing what it might hold. About overcoming that fear and gaining a full name and an address with a set of keys along with a plane ticket for New York. Hesitantly, he mentions his strange abilities and feels almost weak with relief when Nathan tells him he has them too, and had them before.

Then it’s Nathan’s turn to talk, about the explosion and waking up with no Peter. About looking for him, and their mother insisting he was dead. About his obsession turning destructive and driving his wife away. But Nathan had refused to let Peter go and had kept his faith in the belief that he would _know_ if Peter was dead. And he had been right.

 

Peter is yawning again by the time they’ve both ran out of questions and he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s that?” Nathan says sharply and Peter looks up to see him watching his chest intently. More precisely, the strange necklace he’s been wearing for as long as he remembers that is now hanging out of his shirt.

“What, that?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve always had it – haven’t I?”

“No, you haven’t.”

Nathan is still looking at it strangely and Peter feels a frisson of anticipation running through him.

“You know that symbol?”

“It was the logo of Dad’s law firm,” Nathan says distractedly. “But I’ve seen that necklace before.”

“Where?”

And it’s as if a light had gone on in Nathan’s eyes as he jumps to his feet and grabs his cell phone, dialling a number from memory.

“Nathan, what’s going on?”

But Nathan ignores him, intent on his phone call.

“Claire? I need to talk to- your dad.”

There is a brief silence and Peter gives up trying to catch his brother’s attention, settling for listening to his side of the conversation – and watching him. The tingle is still here, and Peter has to force himself to look away.

“Bennet? Nathan Petrelli. I need to get in touch with a 'friend' of yours.”

\---

It feels like forever while they wait for Bennet and his associate to show up. Nathan has explained about meeting the two of them before, and how the man had been wearing the same necklace. It’s a long shot, but it’s all they have right now and Peter clings to it.

It’s a long trip from California to New York, and Nathan tries to get him to sleep and eat but Peter snaps at him more often than not, too on edge to be coddled.

When there finally is a knock on the door, they’re both exhausted but it matters little. Because when the door opens there is a black man on the other side of it who is looking intently at Peter. 

Peter sways, and Nathan is right there when the memories start trickling back – Nathan, his Mom and Dad, first day at school, Nathan – and then it’s as if a dam had broken and they flood back in, a succession of _NathanNathanNathanNathan_. There are fights and unspoken apologies, good memories and bad, and always love. There are other people too, his parents, old girlfriends and the occasional boyfriend, Claire and his nephews, but they always fade in the background when Nathan is around.

When Peter comes around, he is lying on the floor with a worried Nathan bent over him, and he _recognizes_ that expression.

“Nathan,” he says, and the name finally holds _meaning_. His brother understands and smiles, his relief instantaneous as he gathers Peter in his arms.

“I remember. I remember everything,” Peter whispers with wonder in his voice, lost in a twirl of old and half-forgotten memories that he explores again with delight. But there are others, more recent, that demand his attention. Exploding over New York and almost killing his brother. His stupid, stubborn, heroic brother who just wouldn’t let him go. His brother whom he loves, is in love with, and has been for a long time, the feeling like a second skin.

He had woken up after the explosion, alive and whole, and had laughed out loud because New York was still standing and he wasn’t dead, and Nathan- He had frozen then. Where was Nathan? _Where_ was Nathan!? And just like that, he had known, and he had teleported there, and Nathan had been hurt, hurt so bad, burns all over his body, and was he even breathing?

He had been, thankfully, and Peter had tried to heal him, impulsively. He didn’t have that power, but he had been past rational thinking. There had only been Nathan in his mind, Nathan who was dying, and Peter had to help him. He had all those powers, surely he would be able to do _something_! And surprisingly, it had worked. Not perfectly, and not enough, but it had helped, Nathan’s breathing growing less laboured and his pulse more steady. He hadn’t woken up though, and Peter had found himself alone with his brother in the middle of nowhere with no idea how Nathan had even gotten there and desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. He had managed to heal Nathan! He had had no idea he could even do that, but clearly he must have met someone, someone who could – whether they knew it or not. Or maybe it had come from Sylar, from one of his victims, and had been passed on to Peter during their brief encounter. It made him feel vaguely guilty to have it, but it had saved Nathan and that was all that mattered.

In the end Peter had blacked out, from the shock and the exhaustion and the burn-out of so much power, and when he had come to his mother had been there with a black man in tow, the man who was currently standing in his living room. He had thought he was dreaming at first – after all, how could she have found them? Peter didn’t even know where they were! – but it had quickly become clear that he wasn’t.

“Mom? What are you doing here?” he had asked, bewildered, but he had rallied quickly enough. “Nathan is hurt, he needs help!”

“I’m sorry, Peter.” Looking back, Peter doesn’t think she had sounded sorry at all. “But we have plans for both of you. You need to accomplish your destiny, and you can’t keep pulling your brother back from his.”

“What are you talking about? Nathan is _hurt_ , we have to get him to a hospital!” And he had tried to heal him again, only gaining minimum success. His mother had shaken her head and gestured her companion forward.

And Peter had forgotten.

 

With a start Peter finds himself back into his living room, with three pairs of eyes looking at him with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. But Peter is only interested in one.

“It was you!” he says accusingly, glaring at the man. “You’re the one who did this to me!”

The stranger inclines his head. “I am sorry. It was the only way.”

“What’s going on?” Nathan asks, already defensive.

“He made me forget!” Peter explains, his voice full of hurt. “Mom told him to do it!”

“What?!”

“If I may?” Bennet interrupts smoothly and redirects everybody’s attention to him. “Your mother did ask him to take your memories and send you away, Peter. Which he did, but not without leaving with you the information you needed to find your way back to New York, and the necklace so that your brother would know to contact me.”

“But why make me forget if you were just going to give me my memories back? It makes no sense!” Peter is growing agitated, the promised answers from his memories only bringing more questions.

“We didn’t want your mother to know we were watching her. She had to believe everything had been done as she ordered, and when you would have found your way back home... well it would just have been a freak accident – or your powers developing in a new direction. I thought there was a problem when you didn’t reappear right away...”

“There were complications,” Peter says shortly, not elaborating further. Bennet doesn’t probe, and Nathan takes advantage of the short silence.

“What did you learn?” he asks. Bennet turns towards him and Nathan elaborates. “You said you were spying on our mother. Why, and what did you learn?”

Bennet looks at him shrewdly, as if weighing what he should tell them, and finally makes up his mind.

“You already know most of it. Your mother used to work with Linderman – I believe you’re familiar with the name? – and together with six other people they funded what they called The Company. That Company had one purpose – finding people with gifts that could be useful to them – and one common goal. Over the years they drifted apart, until only Linderman and a couple of others remained but that goal remained the same for most of them.”

“What goal?” Peter asks. He doesn’t think he is ready for the answer, doesn’t think he even wants to know, but he has to hear it.

“Letting a bomb go off in the middle of New York City, in order to rally the American people around a man of their choosing. A man who would have abilities like them, and who wouldn’t be a threat to them. Of course, the two of you thwarted that plan. Your mother must have thought you would be more tractable apart.”

Peter almost snorts there. More tractable? Nathan? Clearly, their mother doesn’t know them as well as she claims to. But the amusement that has a faint twinge of hysteria quickly fades, replaced by a mix of betrayal and disbelief. Their mother. How could she have done this to him? To them? She claims to love them, but Peter can’t find any excuses for what she’s done.

“I'm sorry we can’t tell you more,” Bennet adds and checks his watch. “We have a plane to catch. Watch your back.”

The two of them head back for the door and Nathan follows, locking the door behind them. Peter is feeling vaguely paranoid now, and breathes more freely when Nathan is back next to him. He has to fight the irrational urge to latch onto him as soon as he sits down, and instead stares at the wall in front of him.

This is one hell of a mess.

Next to him, Nathan is brooding and Peter risks a glance in his direction.

“What happened with Mom when I was ... gone?” he asks and Nathan sighs.

“She kept insisting you were dead,” he says, rubbing his eyes tiredly and Peter’s heart aches for his brother, for the pain he must think he is hiding so well but that’s leaking in his voice. Part of him though – the part that hopes against all hope that Nathan feels the same way he does – feels a guilty twist of pleasure. “She wanted me to go back to work, wanted me to patch things up with Heidi, act as if nothing had happened...”

“I can’t believe she would do something like that.”

“I can,” Nathan says darkly, and absently his hand comes up to toy with something that dangling from his neck.

The movement draws Peter’s attention to that something.

“Where did you get that?” he asks, gesturing towards the necklace that hangs close to Nathan’s chest. The design is different from his own but the symbol is the same.

Nathan lets it go abruptly. “I woke up with it. Mom probably left it with me...”

“What does it do?” Peter insists, and Nathan looks away.

Silence stretches between them until Peter thinks Nathan won’t answer. He does though, with an apologetic smile.

“It hides the scars,” he says, and Peter feels a pang in his chest. What he saw, the day before... it wasn’t a vision, it was _Nathan_. And it’s his fault. “Mom must have thought scars would be bad for my career.”

“Can I see?”

Nathan swallows and opens his mouth to protest but Peter looks mutinous and there is no point in fighting him on this. Nathan has always known which battle to pick, and in the end he takes the necklace off, and Peter barely manages to bite back a gasp. He reaches for his brother instinctively, only to pull back before his hand touches him, afraid to hurt him.

“Does it hurt?” he asks thickly.

“A little,” Nathan says. – _‘All the time,’_ His mind corrects, betraying him to Peter. – “It’s gotten better,” Nathan continues. – _‘It’ll probably be over soon.’_ He adds privately, but nothing is private when Peter is around.

“No!”

Nathan blinks at him, startled by his outburst. “What –”

“You can’t die!”

Nathan’s expression softens minutely and he doesn’t ask how Peter knows.

“It’s okay, Pete.”

“No, it’s _not_.”

“It’s not your fault...”

“Like hell it isn’t! _I_ blew up and now you’re dying of radiation poisoning! Well, I’m not letting you! I’m going to heal you!”

“Peter...” Nathan sounds vaguely patronising, and worse of all he is _resigned_ and that’s just wrong. “You can’t heal people.”

“Yes, I can. I healed you before – after. I can do it again!”

And Peter is suddenly filled with the certainty that he can. He’s grown more powerful since the explosion, more in control. He doesn’t know why, but it’s a fact and one he intends to put to good use.

“Come here,” he orders abruptly, more forceful than he’s ever been with his brother.

“Peter...”

“Just do it, okay? What have you got to lose?”

Nathan complies, though his expression clearly implies he is only humouring his little brother, and Peter holds out his arms, more determined than ever. He puts one hand on Nathan’s chest and the other on his cheek, and closes his eyes.

He focuses on Nathan, on Nathan’s body and what feels wrong – the skin raw and peeling, the internal organs deteriorating and slowly shutting down, and he hurts with his brother. Instinctively he reaches within himself and pushes something inside Nathan, something that makes the light inside him grow stronger, brighter. It’s working, and so he does it again and again, until the light is blinding him and Nathan finally feels _right_.

Peter slowly comes back to himself. He doesn’t know how much time has passed and his heart is beating wildly in his chest but he feels calm, at peace. As if everything was as it should be, and he opens his eyes.

Nathan is looking back at him, relaxed and happy and beautiful, his skin smooth and unmarked. They’ve moved closer, unaware, during Peter’s healing, and their foreheads are now pressed together, their breaths mingling as Nathan breathes out and Peter breathes in.

And Peter doesn’t think. He just does what feels right and crosses the space that’s keeping them apart.

Their lips fit together like they’re meant to, like they did two days ago when Peter kissed his brother and didn’t know him. He does now though, and it makes it all the more perfect. Nathan isn’t pulling away this time, in fact he’s pressing him back against the couch, his hands coming up to frame Peter’s face and hold him in place.

The kiss soon grows frantic, years of repressed desire on both sides building up quickly, and it’s not enough, not nearly enough. They need to get to the bed, _soon_ , and no sooner has the thought crossed Peter’s mind that they find themselves in the bedroom, tangled together.

Nathan looks nonplussed for a second but he quickly shrugs it off and returns to divesting Peter of his shirt while Peter tries to return the favour.

“You want this?” Nathan mumbles against his skin as he kisses his way across Peter’s chest. “Tell me you want this.”

Peter moans, trying to remember how to form words, anything that would reassure Nathan and ensure he does _not_ stop.

“I want this,” he finally manages to gasp as Nathan latches onto the soft skin above his collar bone, and he never wants him to stop.

The rest of their clothes disappear at some point and they’re skin to skin, and it’s everything Peter has ever thought it would be and more. He feels drunk on love and want and he spreads his legs, cradling Nathan between them.

“Nathan…” he moans, arching against him to drive their cocks together. Nathan growls and grinds down, thrusting their bodies together again and again and again until Peter is almost sobbing with need.

“More,” he orders, and it’s no surprise to find lube in his hand as he says it – those powers are really handy.

He shoves it frantically at Nathan who luckily doesn’t argue. He’s been waiting for this for so long he can’t quite believe it’s finally happening, and from the way Nathan’s hands shake as he opens the lube he feels the same.

They’re too impatient to go slow and when Peter holds himself open Nathan makes short work of preparing him. Peter whines, his brother’s fingers not nearly enough to quench the need inside him.

“Nathan… Nathan, please…” he says brokenly, afraid that his brother will change his mind, will come back to his senses, and needing him inside him _now_. It’s an irrational imperative, to have his brother own him, make him his, but one he can’t fight.

Nathan seems to understand, and the next thing Peter knows is the feel of his brother’s cock pushing inside him. It hurts, but Peter is past caring because it’s everything he’s ever fantasized about in the darkest of the night, and it’s perfect. He tries to buck against his brother, tries to take _more_ , but Nathan is going inexorably slow, a tight expression on his face as he fights for control.

Peter moans, his fingernails digging into his brother’s back as Nathan’s thick cock burns its way into him, and it’s not until he can feel all of it that he allows himself to relax – Nathan isn’t going anywhere and he is right there, kissing him with a hint of desperation as he starts to move, a slow rhythm that drives the pain away but doesn’t fulfil Peter’s needs. And no matter how much he begs and pleads and curses, his brother remains unmoved until he is sure Peter can take it.

Then he fucks him, fucks him like Peter has begged him to, and all Peter can do is hold on, clinging to him with arms and legs as Nathan lets go and pounds into him, over and over again. 

It’s not tender and it’s messy, a raw expression of need and want, and it’s beautiful.

“I love you, I love you, _IloveyouIloveyou_ ,” Peter is chanting, the only coherent thing on his mind at the moment, and Nathan grunts, tightening his hold on him as his mouth finds Peter’s again, kissing him until the need for air becomes an issue.

“Peter…” he pants, mouth wide open against Peter’s face as he finds that spot, the spot that makes his little brother wail and sob, and he drives into it relentlessly.

And Peter finally comes with a scream, convulsing around his brother as he continues to slam into him, and it only takes three or four frantic thrusts before Nathan is following him, his head thrown back and his brother’s name on his lips.

The next few minutes are a blur, Nathan pulling away despite Peter’s weak protests and gathering him into his arms. But Nathan’s _“I love you”_ is loud and clear and Peter passes out with a smile on his face.

 

He wakes up some time later, Nathan a warm and solid weight behind him, his hard-on resting heavy against his ass. Half asleep, he fumbles with the lube and manages to pour some in his hand, reaching back to rub it on his brother’s cock. The angle is awkward but he doesn’t want to move, and it’s all worth it when he arches back and guides his brother to his opening.

Nathan moans behind him, grasping his hips, and the press of his cock inside him is one slow and steady burn. Peter whimpers and gasps, small noises spilling from his mouth as Nathan starts to rock back and forth, barely-there movements of his hips that would lull Peter back to sleep were it not for the rising arousal burning through him. He is too limber from sleep to do much except moan his brother’s name, and when Nathan’s hand closes around his cock he keens low in his throat and Nathan chuckles, burying his head against Peter’s neck.

It’s lazy and unhurried, the urgency of before gone from their love making, and his orgasm almost takes him by surprise. He comes into his brother’s hand and is already drifting back to sleep when Nathan’s breathing stutters and his hips press tight against Peter’s ass, jerking involuntarily as he spills his seed inside his brother with a groan.

Peter sighs contentedly, a sated smile on his face as Nathan drops a kiss on his temple. Together, they sleep.

 

When they wake up again, much later, their limbs are entangled in a way that’s not entirely natural but they’re feeling oddly comfortable and so they lay there, enjoying the quiet and each other. Nathan is playing with his short hair, and Peter thinks it’s the most relaxed he’s ever seen his brother. It suits him. 

_Peter_ suits him.

“What are we going to do now?” Peter finally asks, his voice pitched low. There is their mother to consider, and Linderman’s associates. Not to mention Nathan’s career, and his wife, and so many other things that will overwhelm Peter if he stops to think about them.

“We’ll figure something out.” Nathan is as confident as ever, and that’s enough to settle Peter’s worries.

“There is always Ireland,” he says with a quick grin and Nathan laughs, bright and happy, and of course Peter just has to kiss him.

They’ll deal with the rest of the world later. For now, they only exist in this bubble they’ve created for themselves, in which there is no right and wrong, and only each other. They’ve found something neither ever thought he would get, and they’re not letting go. In fact, they’ll fight for it, fight to keep it safe and _theirs_ , and together? 

Together, they’ll be unstoppable.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal.


End file.
